Ghostly Enemies and Revenge Plots
by Robotic Fox
Summary: Izaya Orihara, during one of his jobs, is found and murdered brutally. Now back as an angry spirit, Izaya Orihara's only thought now is for revenge. But he can't do it alone. So who does he set his sights on? Shizuo, of course. In the midst of haunting Shizuo's house, Izaya must find a way to convince Shizuo to go after the man who murdered him. Can he do it? T plus for violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Durarara! I wish I did. Good Lord, I wish I did. But sadly, I don't so... enjoy my Fanfiction.**

**Warning: While this story will contains more humor and be relatively lighter in retrospect... this chapter contains a lot of darkness, gore, and a character death. Viewer discretion is advised.**

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Izaya Orihara fingered the handle of his beloved flick blade with pale, pallid fingers. Normally, this would be an ordinary occurrence. When he wasn't ripping apart Shizuo Heiwajima's bartender outfit in one of their daily scraps in Ikebukuro, he would play with it when he was in his office in Shinjuku, flicking it open and closed as a way to pass time until Namie finally got annoyed with the clicking sound and give him a round of choice words. It had always been his trusty weapon of choice. He used it all the time after all. From office boredom, to fighting with Shizu-chan, and even with 'negotiating' with clients. But this time… this time was different.

This was terribly, horribly different.

He of course had touched the handle of his knife on multiple occasions; but never before had he touched the handle of his knife when the blade was embedded into his abdomen. That was new.

Pain Izaya never knew existed shrouded through his body, causing him to tremble as he felt his own gooey red blood ooze out into his hand, streaking his pale hand with a sticky red.

His body suddenly went into an explosion of pain as he attempted to slowly slide the blade out of stomach, his teeth clenching. That turned out to be an incredibly wrong move. The pain he had felt earlier was now miniscule compared to what he had done with just that tiny move. He let out a sharp cry despite himself, feeling more blood spurt out of the gaping wound. The knife wasn't even fully out yet and he couldn't bare the thought of trying that again. His fingers twitched, involuntarily pressing harder and harder into his wound, his nails digging into the skin of his stomach in the hopes the dull pain of doing that would distract from the agony he was experiencing.

Biting his lip, he glanced down at the gaping hole he had in his abdomen. While small, it was deep and from the looks of it, fatal. Izaya winced slightly, this whole operation hadn't gone the way exactly the way he had originally hoped. What had started out as a simple mission was going horribly, horribly wrong.

Izaya couldn't even comprehend what was happening before his body keeled over as far as the knife would allow and began coughing violently. With one more heave of his stomach, his body finally ridded itself of what was plaguing it. Izaya realized in pain-laced horror that he was, in fact, vomiting up blood. Not heavy, over exaggerated amounts in the movies, but that didn't matter. It was still horrible and scary and incredibly painful.

The action hurt… maybe even more than the knife, but to be fair that was debatable. Everything hurt really. His heart and insides felt like they were on fire, the burn prominent. He found his free hand clutching tightly near his chest where his heart was, every hard heartbeat causing him more and more pain. His stomach, still not satisfied and most likely ruptured, trembled and squeezed. His vermillion eyes were glazed with involuntary tears burning the edges of his eyes. He refused to let them go though. The infamous information broker of Shinjuku had too much pride to ever let that kind of weakness show.

He had always prided himself on looking calm and collected, even in the most dire of situations. Well, he certainly didn't add getting stabbed and then thrown into a cold cellar-like room from a rather angry client in the situations he would have to face in life, but he guess he had no choice in the matter now.

A mixture of blood, bile, and saliva dribbled down his chin and he wiped it away vainly, despite himself. The mixture of those three had left a horrible taste in his mouth, but he supposed that was the least of his problems.

Now, Izaya Orihara was no stranger when it came to the subject of pain. In fact, what was that word Shinra had used to describe him? Ah, yeah. Masochistic.

Izaya wouldn't go as far as to say he fell exactly into the category. He didn't LIKE getting hurt in most cases. He typically, like every sane person in the world, tended to veer away from pain if possible. But he certainly seem magnetized to areas that pain seemed naturally attracted towards.

Whether it was him walking out in the open in Ikebukuro where trash cans and other miscellaneous items that were supposed to remain stationary could knock into him at any point in time. To the very core of his job. He risked his life on a daily basis doing the job he did. Nobody wanted to be your friend when you held such a position, so you had no allies except those you more or less blackmail into it. Everyone else in the playing field was nothing more than your enemy, who, when you were doing undercover work anyways, you had to convince to be your friend. And that meant getting into some sticky situations.

During the period of time he had been sent working in his job, he had been hit, kicked, slapped, bitten, punched, and more… but getting stabbed was a whole new level compared to all those. You experience one of those and you feel a sharp ache for maybe a day or two, perhaps get a bruise or a scar. The pain of getting stabbed though… it was a whole new rank. It was the mother of all those pains. The Holy Grail. The cruel ruler who was now domineering his whole entire body.

It was nothing more than pure, burning agony.

Izaya's eyes flickered around the room he was being imprisoned in, taking in the surroundings. He didn't know how well he would be able to move with a knife imbedded inside him, but if he checked around to see if he could locate any escape strategies anyway. Call it instinct really. Maybe if he was that desperate and panicked, adrenaline would knock out the pain, if only for a second.

Unfortunately for him, his enemy was even smarter than he thought. There were no exposed openings in the whole entire room, except for a tiny air shaft that, unless he reduced himself to the size of Mairu and Kururi, he would never be able to fit through. He couldn't tell if it was expending air or not, but he didn't care. The room was frigid, almost icily cold. He found himself wrapping his fur-trimmed coat harder around his small frame. He had always hated the cold as he was one who got cold rather easily. That was why, even on the hottest of days, he made sure to take his coat with him whenever he went outside, but this room was miserably cold. He swore if he managed to weasel his way out of this situation, he was taking a one-way ticket to the beach for a month, if only to forget this horrible nightmare and this horrible room.

The room didn't even offer that much too look at when it came to aesthetics. It looked like every other stereotypical dark and scary place you saw in the horror movies. The wall and floor were just grimy stone walls that had splotches of ruddy-brown and green running down them. Some of the ruddy-brown that splattered them looked suspiciously like blood, but Izaya for his own sake of comfort was not going to allow himself to think that. The room must've been used as a hideout at one point as he noticed several carved signatures and messages on the wall. Some were with pencil and some were with knives. Some of the messages were short, cute notes while others were less than politically correct.

A faint smell of marijuana and other types of drugs wafted faintly in the air, confirming his suspicions. Teenagers or other drug dealers must've traded merchandise in this room. He knew the smell from countless of other busts. Drug cartel had always been an area he had to work in. He hadn't expected that the guy he was supposed to be getting information on to be into drugs. Maybe he wasn't though. Maybe he was in this little area just out of simple convenience. But the smell was definitely distracting.

The door was across the room from him, out of his reach with the condition he was in. Izaya debated whether or not he should drag himself over to test if the door was locked or not. He doubted his attacker would leave him in the room with an open door given how he was a criminal genius. But there was always that chance. He had debated it for a good five minutes before deciding not to even try. Even if he made it out the door, how far could he go and how fast could he run with a knife in his chest? For all he knew, the minute he got out, there would be some big burly brute with an axe ready to slam it in his head. There had to be some better way.

There was a huge generator of some sort in the room that was giving off a rather obnoxious humming noise. The green box was huge, taking up most of the room. He wasn't curious as to what it was controlling however… he only wished it would stop because it was not helping his throbbing head. Peeling caution stickers that for all he knew given the rust crawling up the thing were there for centuries were the only thing worthy of mentioning of the stupid thing.

There was a scratched up wooden table in the middle of the room with two chairs on it, providing the only decent furniture in the room. It was carved and beat up as hell… and given by the rings littering it, the people who'd wandered in here didn't know the basic concept of a coaster. Two chairs lined each of the front ends of the table, directly across from one another. Interviews and meetings Izaya was guessing what they were for. The table looked like it had survived through four different wars with how banged up it was.

He had almost decided to crawl over and sit on the table… just to feel a little classier, but had simply decided not to do it. His vanity was not strong enough for him to move from his slouched position on the dirty floor.

Even with all the just….stellar excitement reverberating off of the room, Izaya's eyes kept flickering to the dead mouse laying limply in the corner of the room. Given its state and the cobwebs and dust covering the corpse, it had been there for a while, meaning someone had just left it there. A wave of nausea covered Izaya despite himself at the disgustingness, having a small version of OCD himself. He tried to ignore the body, but he found himself unable to look away, as if it had some kind of mind-control ability on him. He grimaced. Really, bodies mind-controlling him? Was he already starting to fall into the lapses of insanity. He had never been quite sane to begin with…

Blood loss, he decided. Blood loss was making him delirious.

"Izaya Orihara…"

Izaya froze, heart skipping a beat. His body instinctually flinched and he instantly regretted it, the knife causing an explosion of pain in his gut, immediately making him groan. That voice… it definitely came from outside the door, but it hadn't come from a human, that's for sure. The voice was too… mechanical and empty. It sounded like a voice box of some kind. What the hell was going on?

His groan must've been louder than he thought as the mechanical voice gave a slimy chuckle as he said, "Are you in pain Izaya? What happened to all that confidence from earlier huh? You acted so calm originally. Are you calm now? Are you calm knowing you are going to die?"

Izaya felt his heart begin to race, his eyes widening slightly, teeth clenching. His fingernails dug across the sleek, concrete floors, trying to grip something, but ending with nothing. Goosebumps crawled along his arm and back as the room seemed to turn even colder. No, he didn't feel calm at all. Out of everything in the world, death scared him the most.

Death was something he had no control of, something he couldn't stop. He always told everyone that he was 'forever twenty-one,' and while no one had ever truly believed his claim, he'd always tried to live by that mindset. Call it cowardly, but he didn't want to face the fact that he was getting older. Every second of everyday he was getting older and older… and therefore closer and closer to death.

He wasn't satisfied with that. He wasn't okay with that realization. It was not really Death itself he was afraid of. The problem was, he didn't want to die anytime soon. Not before he left some kind of impact on the world. He had never been a belief of the Afterlife or Hell. He never had any opinion on what happened after life as it was not a subject he was particularly comfortable sitting around and thinking about.

He also didn't care. Maybe his fear wasn't exactly death. It was being forgotten. He wanted to leave some sort of footprint in the Earth. He wanted to be remembered by people, even in death. Generation and generation would remember him for something. There was only so far the memory being the information broker that managed to elude Shizuo Heiwajima could get before it died down.

He didn't want to be forgotten. He didn't. His humans may not like him as much as he liked them (now that he thought about it, none of them particularly cared about him at all), so be it. But he would make them all remember him. Whether out of reverence, fear, or simple respect. He would make sure that his name would never die down, even when he was buried in the ground. He wouldn't be another gravestone in the cemetery that eventually crumbled with age, forgotten and disregarded by others who had no relation to him. He would make sure he was alive through books and stories. Word of mouth, he learned during his time as an informant, was one of the most powerful means of remembrance and information.

He had made a silent vow to himself long ago that he would make some form of an impact in the Earth in some form or the other, and he wasn't even going to let a force such as Death take him down before that happened. Maybe that's why he enjoyed the chases with Shizuo so much. He got an adrenaline rush from it…like he was partaking in some kind of challenge.

He didn't know if Shizuo was bluffing or not when he threatened that he would murder him the moment he nabbed him, but Izaya wasn't going to take the chance. As he fluently dodged whatever the blonde threw at him and managed to always escape from the blonde's clutches no matter what, Izaya felt like had won a challenge against death. He had challenged and stared Death in the face and he managed to avoid it as always. It felt almost artistic really.

But now… he didn't know if he could escape the eyes of Death here. He didn't know for sure now if he was going to be able to escape Death like he had before. He was pretty much trapped. He was the live mouse thrown into the plastic container of the snake pen. He could only fruitlessly scratch at the walls in the fruitless hopes of getting out, knowing their time was only ticking. He like the mouse, could only live in terrifying, paralyzing fear before Death finally struck down and put him out of his misery. A sense of foreboding anger crossed through Izaya's features. He hated feeling helpless. He was supposed to be in control. He was supposed to be the puppeteer. The one who lead everything. He wasn't supposed to be this vulnerable.

Despite it, he smirked and slowly said, "Nope. In fact, I feel practically dandy. I mean, this place isn't exactly a five star hotel with some complimentary caviar… but I like it well enough. The host's attitude could be a little bit more calm… but oh well. Beggars can't be choosers."

Izaya was proud of how calm and in-control his voice remained, even with his quickening heartbeat. It was a little hoarse from pain, but he supposed he couldn't do anything about that.

Suddenly the door flung open and Izaya was surprised by the appearance of his attacker, immediately caught off-guard. He had been waiting for this moment, he knew it was going to come. But with every image he had gotten, he hadn't expected this.

The figure in front of him was huge. Bigger than he had expected. Izaya could guess he could say he was about a few inches taller than Shizuo. Izaya had always been secretly intimidated by height, given as he wasn't the tallest person in the whole world, so his eyes narrowed a little at the man's towering form.

The man was well-muscled as well. Izaya could tell that even from under the thick, heavy pesticide suit he wore. Izaya went to read the man's face, but unfortunately for him the oxygen mask the man donned on his face prevented him an easy read. He looked kind of like the terrifying horror movie characters from dumb scary movies he had forced Mairu and Kururi to watch when he was babysitting them. He had found the getup stereotypical and cheap originally, but now…

Whether the man had intentionally went for that look or not, Izaya didn't know, but either way, the image was not a pleasant one to see. The man had a voice box like object attached to him, explaining the mechanical voice. No skin was exposed on this man. He was making sure to keep himself perfectly well-hidden. Izaya's heart lurched at the sight of the sledgehammer he saw in the man's hands, but he had learned overtime not to let fear show. He merely blinked and slowly said, "Hello, Mr. Igarashi."

Igarashi let out another chuckle sound, which sounded like a bunch of cracks in the voice box. Once he was done, the Igarashi slowly said under the cover of his mechanical voice, "So you are Orihara, Izaya. I've heard your famous for your stoic expressions. But you don't fool me. I know your afraid of death, Izaya. I know more about you then you think."

"Do you always believe in rumors?"

"What human isn't afraid of death, Izaya?"

"Did I claim to be human?"

"Sense of humor, I see. I find that admirable, really. Even when you are about to die, you decide to go out with witty comebacks. I almost don't want to do this. Almost. But unfortunately, you are a threat. And according to word on the street, your to dangerous for my operation." Igarashi said slowly, as if drawling it out. The mechanical voice was strangely effective. Izaya had dealt with a lot of 'scum' before… but this was different. The inhuman tone was chilling. Even the mechanical tone sounded… calculating and cold. It got a rise out of him. He felt like a cornered cat. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, sweat starting to crawl along his back.

"Ah yes… your operation. You definitely have it well-secured I must admit… I didn't make it two steps out of the gate before your men had knocked me out and stabbed me. I blacked out in an instant…" Izaya said coolly, narrowing his eyes at the memory. It really had been surprisingly quick. It was almost embarrassing how fast they had intercepted him.

They had him fooled. He had thought he had convinced the group leader he was a part of him. He had talked to different ties… gotten random clues and hints… had played the part. He had almost made it to what he was presuming was Igarashi's headquarters. He had been somewhat prepared for the guy to turn around to throw a punch, but he hadn't expected to get stabbed.

The moment he had keeled over from the shock of being stabbed, two other men grabbed a hold of him and used their hands to hit his pressure point. He had sunk to his knees and had blacked out in an instant. When he had woke up, he was in this room in Kami knows where with the knife still plunged into his stomach.

"Yes… only the finest for me. It's amazing what money can buy isn't it? It may not buy happiness… but it can buy some damn fine security!" Igarashi said with a bellowing laugh that Izaya thought would knock out his speakers.

"Doesn't matter…," Izaya taunted, "I know everything I need to know for now… enough to get you arrested anyway…"

The cold chuckle that Igarashi made Izaya almost express fear. His eyes widened a little as Igarashi said, "But what good is your information going to do now when your just a corpse? You know how many people have wanted to this to you? To see you die? To suffer?" Yes… Izaya was aware. The number was surprisingly large.

Izaya saw Igarashi pat the edge of the sledgehammer against his gloved hand, "I consider myself rather lucky to be the one who does this…"

No… this wasn't right. This was not right. He wasn't supposed to die like this. He hadn't made his impact yet. He hadn't done what he needed to do. He was too young. He still had a life to live! He wanted control of how his death would go… this was not -

The crushing force of the sledgehammer making contact with his head was jarring. Izaya felt his body fly and skid across the ground, a bloody streak following his wake. His ears rang… pounding against his head. He was in a daze… his vision blurred. What had just happened?

Another hit. This time, on top of his head. Izaya felt his head get slammed to the ground, his tooth chipping from the impact of smacking against the cement floor. He could feel blood seep down his head, getting into his eyes…covering them.

He felt the hammer smash into him more and more… ruthlessly…with every hit…he was starting to lose feeling… he was starting to be unable to process thoughts… unable to move…unable to see.

But there was one feeling… no, one wish… one need that was fueled by emotion as the onslaught continued. He continued to feel this feeling even after Igarashi had his fun… leaving only the mangled, bloody corpse of what had once been Izaya Orihara to twitch his last few twitches.

Through the pain of broken bones and other such wounds… there was one thing Izaya felt. It was a need that was fueled by emotion, but it was stronger. It wasn't anger… it wasn't hatred…

It was the need for revenge. He had felt it as he laid there… glaring at the disappearing form of Igarashi with his one good eye. He had felt it more strongly than he had ever felt before.

For the second time in all his life, Izaya Orihara hated someone.

Slowly, but surely… darkness begin to flood his vision… blocking out all of his sight and dulling all of his senses. He felt a certain calmness bask over him as his breathing slowed down into ragged, pants until they too eventually ceased.

The great information broker of Shinjuku was dead.

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**A/N: Well... how's that for a prologue? Critique, as always, is strongly wanted.**


	2. Chapter 2

Izaya Orihara sat on top of a large dumpster broodingly.

Hold on, there was flaw in that last statement. Let him reiterate that one.

The GHOST of Izaya Orihara sat on top of a large of a large dumpster broodingly, twiddling his thumbs against one another as he went over the plan he had formulated in his mind once more in a calculating manner. As he did this, his gaze was locked onto a nearby ginger ally cat that had wandered in tentatively, smelling the discarded chicken the owner of the restaurant had just carelessly tossed out.

The ragged old tom cat looked hesitant about going in and grabbing the chicken and Izaya wondered what was bothering it. Was it scared that the cat-hating owner would catch it and chase it off with the broom? Or was it afraid of him? Was it both?

Izaya had learned that dogs and cats and many other animals were able to sense his presence around. How they knew was beyond him? Was it through sound? Smell? Sight? Or did their instincts just flare up all of the sudden without warning when he was around? It had mystified him for a while, but Izaya figured he had more pressing manners to think about besides whether or not ugly, torn up ally animals could see him or not.

The tom cat raised a tentative paw up for a moment before finally deciding to take its chances and rushing to the chicken, wolfing down as much as it could with short delicate bites. Good for it…

Izaya knew he really shouldn't be so pessimistic, him ending up in the city of Osaka was a step up from sitting in that fucking room with his dead, mutilated body.

Ever since the day he'd been murdered by Igarashi, he had not left his body's side. Igarashi never disposed of him. He'd just left his body there, dead and mutilated in that spot, lying on the floor that was stained and smeared with his own blood. It was almost infuriating in a way. So arrogant.

He had no reason to dispose of it. Igarashi was smart and knew had to elude the cops with ease. It wouldn't matter if they found his body anyway. Igarashi hadn't left a trace of evidence behind.

He'd made sure there would be nothing left behind besides Izaya's bloody corpse. He had been meticulous almost. His gloves had prevented any fingerprints from being left at the crime scene, and even if he didn't have those things on, he hadn't touched Izaya once.

His sledgehammer had though.

Police never really crept around that area, seeing as it was in the middle of nowhere, so he would never be found or at least, not for a very long time. It had disheartened him when he had realized this fact when he'd been sitting in that dusty, old room. He didn't want to be a disappearing case. He didn't want to be like one of those kidnapped people.

He didn't want for someone (most likely Namie since she relied on his paycheck), to finally notice he'd been gone for a long time now and send out someone to find him. But they would search and search, but yet he would never show up.

His face would be on posters offering rewards for his return, but yet he would still be missing until finally, people just presumed he was dead and his body would never be found. But unlike what happened to most kidnap victims, he wouldn't get any sympathy from those who noticed he still hadn't been found.

They would just move on with their lives, simply knowing that Izaya was dead and go under the assumption that his body was dumped in a river or something. No one would care.

If anything, they would say the great Izaya Orihara had finally gotten his just-desserts. And in a way, he indeed had.

He didn't know why he cared so much about people finding him. He knew if they discovered his body they would probably take a few weeks to identify his now unrecognizable features. Once they did, they would just announce to the world that Izaya Orihara, was indeed, dead and gone through the newspaper and news reports. And the world would simply reply back with a blunt, "Good."

Not all that many people would come to his funeral anyway. His parents maybe- that was if they didn't have any business meetings he thought sneeringly, and maybe his sisters. Perhaps Shinra as well, and maybe even Celty if Shinra dragged her along with. But there wasn't that many people who cared for the well-being of Izaya Orihara.

So why did he care? If the world was just appreciate that he was dead… why did he want to be found so much? Izaya knew the answer to that question in an instant.

Because he didn't want to be forgotten. That's what you did with all the reported cold cases or kidnappings right? You see they were kidnapped or dead, have a moment of sympathy, only to completely forget about them later. They were erased from everyone's mind and thoughts, the only people caring being the ones who were in relation to that person. But eventually, they moved on too.

In the end, no one truly matters do they?

Izaya Orihara was a big name around both Ikebukuro and Shinjuku so he would be remembered for a little bit. But no one would care. No one would remember him forever like he had always wanted. The only legacy he would've carried throughout his life was the guy who stood up to Ikebukuro's monster, Shizuo Heiwajima and lived. The fact that he was a top-notch information broker might go a little ways… but that was frail accomplishment compared to the things he had wanted to achieve.

This disappointed him. Those bits of information wouldn't be planted in the minds of people forever. They would be washed away. He would die for the second time. Not in the physical way of course, but in a way, he really would. No one would remember him. He would be forever forgotten with time.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He remembered spending one of the nights in that room simply muttering, "I wanted to be remembered." over and over again. But every time he had said it, he knew it was too late. He would never be remembered. He had failed. He had failed his ultimate mission. His dream. He had died a nobody.

If they found his body, he would just be another gravestone in the cemetery. Nothing more. It made him angry. It made him sad. It made him feel worthless.

He didn't get to live his dream death out. He had been murdered before he could make an impact. Why did it have to happen to him?

For all those passing days, he had sat vigil by his body, since no one else would. It wasn't like he had places to go either. He was dead. He would never have to eat again. The dead didn't need to sleep. He never even had to go to the restroom or drink. He could literally stand there and do nothing. He could just sit there and contemplate his own ghostly thoughts.

Being a ghost was almost like real life, but even duller. He had no humans to study, he had no Shizuo to bother, he had no paperwork. Hell, at this point the would've been willing to talk to Shinra! But none of them were there. He was isolated with nothing to do. Granted, by his own choice, but still.

So his own corpse had become his obsession. He didn't know why. He didn't really like nor want to look at it. With all of his exposed wounds, his body was already start to rot and it was not a pleasant sight or smell to see in the very least. It was a good thing he didn't have a stomach to feel sick anymore.

He was also glad no bugs had entered the room, seeing as it was practically air tight. If he had to watch bugs chewing his body from the inside out, he was pretty sure he would've gone insane.

He had went under the small hope that one of the teenagers who smoked pot in the room would come around and discover him. Fortunately, this did happen. Unfortunately, the outcome was not one that he had originally wanted.

Izaya could still remember their conversation clear as day. How could he forget it? They were the only other humans who'd witnessed his cadaver. They had been his shining hope. They had been the only ones who could assure that his body was found. That at least the police and forensics could examine him and maybe capture Igarashi and lock him up for good.

Though he doubted that would be possible at this point.

It was pathetic really, the great Izaya Orihara having to depend on two druggie teenagers for his own salvation. Granted, in the past he'd relied on some pretty idiotic ties. It was all part of the job description after all. It hadn't been so bad because he knew he was just using them… and when they realized that later on in the mission, it was one of the greatest reactions Izaya could ever get out of people.

There was just something so satisfying of seeing the dawn of realization rise up on people's features when they still try to contemplate the fact they'd been tricked. Watching those expressions change into one of anger or despair was also pretty good. Others didn't even react. It was just blank, accepting stares… almost like they had given up.

Reactions to situations like this were what made humans so fascinating creatures to Izaya. Some were more emotional than others. Reactions depended on the type of person you were. Since everyone was different, Izaya liked to explore. To learn. To see what made people tick. To see how they would react.

It was more fun than any toy or electric device could ever provide to Izaya. It was like a scientist with his specimens… it was thrilling.

But this was different. Now, he needed them. They were his only hope. The puppeteer was now relying on his puppets to save him now. The pawns were the King's only hope of survival.

But in the end, it had all proved worthless.

He had later deemed the whole conversation between the two of them as the 'Conversation of Lost Hope' that day… because that was exactly what is was. The conversation that made him lose any glimmer of hope he had retained at all.

He found himself replaying it in his mind over and over again when he had been in that room. What else was he really supposed to think about? That dusty, old room didn't lead much for entertainment. The only thing he had to do was examine the dead mouse lying on the ground and contemplate his own thoughts which were useless now.

Well, the whole scenario had begun when he had heard the door of the joint swing open.

It had been the third day he had sat there when he had heard the door open. The foreign sound had seemed so loud and out of place among what had been nothing but still silence. He had actually flinched a little when he had first heard it… snapped out of his own thoughts.

He had raised his ghostly head up in curiosity, thinking for a moment it was Igarashi again deciding to pick up his body after all. If it was him, he remembered hoping Igarashi was out of costume this time. He had wanted to see the criminal mastermind who'd took his life. He wanted to see what the bastard looked like. His true face.

Of course, he'd gotten a few pictures of the man before he got the mission. The guy who had contracted him for the information was a rather desperate police officer who went by the name of Okahito.

The best way he could describe Okahito's appearance in a nutshell was that he was an Average Joe kind of guy. Izaya could read that immediately from the whole entire conversation, even before Okahito had given him all the basic information he needed.

The man had olive-colored skin with a few moles placed sporadically on his body. One on his cheek, one on his arm, another on his wrist hidden slightly by a simple gold wristwatch.

Okahito was about in his late thirties…maybe forties if Izaya wanted to stretch it out a little when he'd first made his predictions. After a few questions, he'd been happy when Okahito answered that his age was indeed thirty-five.

He had his jet-black hair was combed in a very basic, formal style. You know when you were a little kid and had to draw hair on a guy so you just gave him the most basic boy hairstyle you could think of? There was his hair. Just add a few grey hairs in that mix. Not much where you would make immediate notice, but enough to see. They were gently peppered across the man's hair.

He had easy-to-read, straight to the point black eyes and a small nose.

He wore his police suit with neat precision. There was no wrinkles gracing that outfit at all. Badges were all proudly stamped across the suit in neat little rules. Izaya could tell from the few minutes he was there that Okahito was someone who was very proud of his job.

He was someone who believed performing everything at his best and most likely had forced himself to drive himself towards his office.

Izaya could tell from his stature he was a family man. Given his age and the ring he had on his finger, he was married. Probably had kids. Wrinkles on one's face could tell a lot after all. They were barely noticeable on the man's face, but Izaya caught them. He was always wary of those kind of things.

If Izaya had decided to make Okahito one of his subjects in learning more about humans, he would deduce that he would be bored rather quickly. Okahito didn't have much on him. He would be amused for a few reactions tops, but that was about it.

Apparently, Izaya had learned, Okahito wasn't supposed to be contacting Izaya at all in the first place. If any of the police chiefs or other workers knew he was doing this at the current moment, he had confessed to Izaya that he would be fired within a millisecond.

Immediately after Okahito confessed that little fact, he had slid a few more dollars on the table to make sure Izaya wouldn't spill the beans to any of the other officers or chiefs.

Izaya almost felt hurt at that. Almost. Actually, he hadn't felt hurt in the slightest. He found it amusing and remembered letting only amusement played across his features for a few brief moments before he quickly masked them before taking the man's money. Had to be professional for the clients you know?

Namie often told them that if most people knew him through and through (like she knew…) they would see a lot of childishness within his enigmatic character. Like the childhood he had never really gotten was trapped in some cage within his heartless body. That's what she said anyway.

Izaya didn't know about that. He considered himself smarter and mature than most. It had taken him a moment or two before he had replied to Namie that he just knew and liked to have fun every once in a while instead of being a bitter, old hag all the time like she was.

He had nearly gotten his head knocked off of his shoulders by the metal statue she had chucked at his head after that little comment. It was a good thing he was a good dodger and had ducked under the thing right on time. His wall hadn't been so lucky though… the hole in that thing had been humongous…

He personally liked to see himself more as the house cat who'd caught a mouse. He liked to play around a little…toy and see what he could accomplish before he finally finished his prey off. But instead of killing them he had just left them feeling stupid or behind bars. Either one didn't matter too him.

He had to admit, he had wanted to show a little bit of childish behavior when talking to Okahito. He could tell that Okahito was selling a good load of pride by coming over to meet him. Why not test and see how far that pride went? Would he snap and quit? Or was this mission that big?

Either way, Okahito wouldn't be happy in the long run.

After all, he was a police officer and the police and Izaya had never tangoed that well. In fact, he was ninety percent sure that they didn't like him at all.

Their relationship was stiff. The police didn't like Izaya for some of his - less than dictated actions across the city. A lot of his toying around had left some people in a state of tears, confusion, or anger… and they usually were plagued with random phone calls about his actions.

Plus, Izaya was one of the two who participated in the destruction of Ikebukuro. It would've been okay with the police if he had ticked Shizuo off once… seeing as the man had a quick temper and all… but he did it over and over again. Like the kid who always instigated a fight with the irritable troublemaker.

They hadn't done anything really about it - mainly all of them fearing their lives about confronting the two men - but the property damage that kept coming out of the city's income was really starting to add up. Izaya was pretty sure the police secretly rooted for Shizuo to finally catch him one day.

A lot of people did.

Wow… and he was surprised when he finally got murdered… heh, go figure.

But they wouldn't want Shizuo to kill him like some others might've wished. They needed him. Particularly tricky cases came up every once in a while that the police had a tough time tracking or their was a druggie, mastermind, robber, etcetera, they needed information on and they only relied on him, not wanting to risk some of their men to go on the mission on their own.

Hacking, spying, and other means were child's play to the great Orihara.

No one could beat Izaya's acting when it came to his job. One of the newer officers, before he began hating him like all the rest, had actually been shocked by Izaya's method undercover work and said he could be a movie actor.

Izaya could conjure up voices that strayed very much from his own, was bilingual, had a multitude of disguises, wasn't afraid to get dirty or even join in the crime occasionally when it was absolutely necessary, and wasn't afraid to do anything others would hesitate to do at first glance.

Namie had complimented him once by saying he was the best cross-dresser she'd ever seen.

He was valuable and had winded a lot of people they needed in jail with his information. His skills were needed by them. But they didn't want to rely on him. They didn't like him.

Izaya had noticed his connection with them had been slowly dying out, but Okahito had fixed that little thing right up. Albeit secretly, but it still was the police. Even if he paid extra to get the credit, Izaya knew Okahito and him both knew the truth.

But in order for the police to be desperate enough to seek him out now showed signs that this case was bigger than most he got.

Okahito had laid out pictures on his desk and had explained about Igarashi to Izaya. Apparently the man had quite the bounty for his head and had done quite a couple of things.

Seven accounts of murder with the possibility of more, over a hundred cases of supposed drug cartel, eight acts of violence, nine defacing property, arrested twice, escaped prison once… and that was only scratching the surface with this man. He was basically the mortal enemy of the police officers.

He had perked Izaya's interest immediately. But unfortunately, the pictures Okahito provided were… less than satisfying for the Orihara. At least, they weren't really what he needed when it came to identifying what the suspect looked like.

The pictures were either way to old or nothing useful. One was a grainy, crappy childhood Polaroid photo of Igarashi posing with the peace sign with what looked like his brother. Ah, childhood. It was funny to think the worst criminals in the world started out as children. Just mindless, innocent-looking children. But obviously, this was not what Izaya needed.

The man he was searching for was about fifty now.

The second was another grainy photo, only this one looked like it came from a security camera. It showed a hooded figure of who Izaya was presuming was Igarashi talking to another guy who was leaning against a streetlight. Okahito had about twelve more of these type of security photos where Izaya could barely even make out Igarashi… and most of the time the person he presumed was Igarashi was merely made by pure guesswork.

Izaya was getting annoyed at this point. None of these were providing him what he needed. Izaya Orihara may be a good information broker, wheedling out information out of people who seemed to have the strongest facades in the world. But he was not a miracle-worker.

He liked to believe he was, but he wasn't one. Not yet anyway…

The last picture Okahito had provided him was the only one that only gave Izaya a slight semblance of what Igarashi looked like, and even then, it hadn't given him much.

It was a mug-shot of Igarashi after he'd been arrested for beating up a couple of men at a bar that had been taken last year. It was almost weird to see such a clear image after the list of things Okahito had shoved in his direction…but it still wasn't what he was looking for.

Call him paranoid, but he was pretty sure rich man, criminal genius Igarashi would be able to set up a few plastic surgeries to hide his identity. At least, that's what Izaya would've done had he been stuck in the man's situation. He'd seen plenty of the other people he had to seek information on do the same.

The sallow-faced, angry-eyed, bulldog-nosed individual certainly didn't look like Igarashi from his childhood photos anyway. Perhaps he already had stuff done? Or was that just aging? If it was aging, Izaya felt even more sickened at the prospect of his future.

But why worry when you were forever twenty-one right… right?

He had been blunt with Okahito that the photos he had provided him were not at all useful for him to locating and knowing who Igarashi was. He'd been almost tricked by impostors as well. One had pulled a gun out at him, but Izaya had been quick to shank him.

He hadn't killed that particular suspect… he never really went that far besides when the person in question was already about to commit suicide (not his worry). But he never killed. Though he hadn't exactly been easy on the guy afterwards.

He didn't want that to happen again. Seeing as Igarashi was apparently incredibly smart, Izaya was ninety percent sure that he would have to take a while to weasel his way in as one of Igarashi's 'men.'

But Okahito had assured him that Igarashi had that kind of wavelength to him. A vibe. You knew when it was him. He said he suspected someone as smart as Izaya would be able to figure it out on his own.

Ah a flattery with the underlying message of mockery. How nice.

Izaya had accepted there though. He had done a couple of cases with little to no information and had still been successful. His track record with his criminals was practically flawless.

Okahito had given him more basic information and his own personal information as well for Izaya to call him when he needed too, which Izaya had accepted.

Well, Okahito was never getting a phone call back.

Izaya didn't know why he had cared so much about seeing Igarashi's face when he had heard the door swing open. What was he going to do now in this form? He was dead…

Wait… could he do something in this form? He didn't even really understand it all that well. Were there other ghosts or was he a special case as usual? Had neither Heaven or Hell not want him? Was he one of those ghosts that could never be seen and just merely floated by other people or walking through them without them noticing? Or was he one of those ghosts that could pick up objects and mess with these things.

Call him petty but he hoped it was the latter. At least that would add a little excitement in his new life. Plus, if he picked up a good knife… he could possibly find Igarashi…

Okay, getting sidetracked again.

So he had sat there in anticipation, awaiting to see Igarashi's face. But the instant he heard the voices coming from out the door, he had felt any trace of hope of locating Igarashi vanish right before his eyes, sending a icy cold sensation crawling through his airy body.

As a ghost, not much had changed. He could still feel certain feelings and sensations. He had pinched himself earlier and although the sensation had considerably weakened, he could still feel the dull pain coming from doing such an action.

He felt that kind of a rip-off. What kind of ghost felt pain? That seemed like some kind of disadvantage. Sure his pain receptors weren't as strong as they were when he'd been alive, but the fact that he still felt pain seemed weird. After a while, he concluded being a ghost was no different than being alive other than the basics. One, you were dead. Two, you could live without eating or drinking (but he had a suspicion he could if he wanted too). And finally, you got to float.

So when he had found out that the people weren't Igarashi the cold feeling of hopelessness washed over him, causing him to shudder. He wasn't used to that sensation. He rarely felt it.

The voices were a bunch of whispers between what sounded like two males. They were hushed and quiet, as if they were trying not be caught. But the idiots footsteps and shushing was not. Izaya could hear them all the way down the hall and through the closed door. Izaya rolled his vermillion-red eyes. Morons. Their sneaking skills lacked some focus.

He listened in on their conversation, quietly, wondering if they were going to enter the room.

"How much weed did you get this time from the Chris?" one voice said, a little to loudly to really be counted as a whisper. Izaya could hear the eagerness in the kid's voice, rolling his eyes. Potheads. Great. Izaya had dealt with far to many of those in his lifetime as an information broker.

Sure they were his only hope now, but he still found them ridiculous.

"Shut the fuck up, Daichi! Do you want us to get caught? Cops have been getting suspicious of us as of late," said the other voice, who Izaya presumed was Chris.

"Shit man, sorry." Daichi said apologetically. "I forgot that fucking douche bag officer from around the corner had been poking around your house."

"Yeah, well, when you have fucking nosy parents' who don't stay away from something that is not their business, these things are to be expected." Chris growled out, malevolence in his voice.

"I don't think the cops ever snoop around this joint though…" Daichi said. "Do your parents know about this place?"

"I don't think so. How should I know? Do I look like I follow my parents around like a puppy-dog?" Chris snapped irritably.

"Well, then I think we'll be alright. But seriously, how much weed did you get from the fucker?" Daichi asked seriously. They must've either stolen a bag of weed from one of their "friends" or one of their "friends" must've given it to them for free.

"Just a small baggy-full man. What did you expect? Free weed doesn't come in cartons you know?" Chris said in a hushed tone.

"Guess your right, man. Might as well take advantage of it though, right man? There's always time for a quick smoke." Daichi said; to which Chris grunted his agreement.

As the two druggies argued with one another, Izaya listened as their voices came closer and closer towards the door, their footsteps more prominent.

Finally, it had happened.

Izaya had perked up when he heard the handle of the door click downwards, the kids about to enter the room. About to find him.

A minute smidgen of hope came resurfacing among the midst of his body, shedding a little stray beam of light within the darkness of what was his pessimistic thoughts.

They would take his body back now. There had to be some kind of missing person report by now. Izaya usually always made sure that he contacted his clients at least once every one to two days during missions to let them know that he was still at work. It had been nearly a week since he died.

Surely Okahito sent out a missing report?

At least now, his body would be found and returned so he could at the very least have a proper burial and…

The door finally swung open and Izaya was greeted by the sights of Daichi and Chris. He had to admit, he was surprised. They didn't look like druggies. If anything, they looked like normal nineteen year old models. You know the ones you see posing in clothes at clothing stores?

Daichi and Chris saw him as well. How can you miss a bloody, dead corpse in a big open room? It wasn't like Igarashi had bothered to move his body or anything.

Chris and Daichi had stood there frozen like deer in headlights for a few minutes, their expressions that of blank confusion. Like it was taking their mind a few moments to process what was happening. A natural reaction, Izaya supposed. It wasn't everyday you found a bloody, mutilated cadaver after all.

Izaya was wondering for a moment if he was visible to them, but their eyesight wasn't really directed on him at the moment. They were still focused on the whole dead body thing.

So they had just stood there, the only sounds audible from their gaping mouths were a few rough breaths. Soon, their breathing began to get louder and faster, their eyes wider. Their body had caught onto what they were seeing before their minds did.

Finally, the realization seemed to hit Chris' mind first. Izaya watched as he clasped his hands on his face almost comically and let out a terrified wail of a scream.

The sound of Chris' scream must've finally knocked whatever sense Daichi was trying to collect from the scene right into him and Daichi also let out a scream as well, probably even louder than Chris.

Daichi had launched back a considerable amount and wailed, "Holy shit dude! This can't be happening… this- … oh god." Daichi was starting to look a little green now, his body slumping a little.

All of a sudden, Izaya's body seemed to leave Chris' mind momentarily as he moaned, "Oh, Daichi man… don't." Too late. Daichi was vomiting the contents of his stomach out on the ground now, his body racking with shudders.

Even as a ghost, Izaya found himself reeling with disgust at the sight. He had always hated any kind of illness. He had the misfortune of having a weak metabolism when he'd been alive and much to his dismay, so did Mairu and Kururi.

He had never cared particularly for his parents for leaving him to raise his baby sisters practically by himself with the exception of a few nannies (though the three of them usually managed to drive them out after a while). He had messed them up in a way, under his influence and it had just been an annoyance to begin with.

But when Mairu and Kururi had gotten sick… well, let's just say whenever the twins repeated vulgar language… you know where it came from.

Now even in death, he was dealing with sickness. Just because he was a ghost didn't mean he couldn't smell anything anymore. If anything, his senses were heightened. He wanted to gag.

Once Daichi had finished and probably lost all of his lunch and dinner at once, he had looked up at Chris, fearful tears streaming down his face. Izaya realized these punks probably only came to smoke weed with their friends occasionally. They weren't thugs who beat up or saw anything like this.

They were just kids with a drug problem. Not that that mattered in the moment.

"…What are we going to do, Chris… we can't just leave that body there…" Daichi croaked out shakily, his face pale, eyes still wide with horror. Izaya had been sure he had dumped whatever contents that were in his stomach completely out… but from the pea-green shade he was starting to form… Izaya wondered if his body would find more stuff to dispose of.

But Daichi was right… Chris couldn't just leave his body there…

But it seems like Chris had different opinions then his own.

With eyes like a fearful animal, Chris turned to Daichi and said in a hushed tone, "No… we don't tell anyone about this Daichi…"

Izaya had felt himself tense up a little… or whatever the hell the ghost equivalent of that was. What? What the hell was this punk thinking? He couldn't just leave him there!  
"You can't just leave him there Chris!" Daichi cried out, throwing out a pale hand to gesture towards Izaya's corpse, "We just can't. It's wrong… we need to tell someone about this! We have too…"

Chris quickly cut him off though, hissing lowly, "Yes… but you have to remember the risks to all of this Daichi! If we contact the police, they will wonder how we found this place. You know its freaking back story right?"

Back story?

Daichi looked like he was about to say something but Chris cut him off again, "Not only that, we'll have to tell them why we're here in the first place. They would tell us to stay in place and they will bring the dogs. Those damn mutts will sniff the weed out right away."

"But-" Daichi said desperately, his dirty green eyes looking at Chris pleadingly, but Izaya could see he was faltering. He was actually considered what Chris was saying! No… this couldn't be happening. Couldn't be true. Oh no… and what the hell was Chris talking about with this location business? Was this freaking basement for an area more than what it had appeared originally? He'd been in a state of mild panic at that moment.

"Daichi… they will find it suspicious that we're in this room in the first place… much less if we claim we just found a body down here…the police will be suspicious. We will be pulled in for questioning."

"So what man?! I didn't murder the guy, and neither did you!" Daichi said, fearful tears streaming down his face and dripping to the floor. After a pause, Daichi had quickly queried, "Wait… you didn't do you?"

Chris rolled his eyes in exasperation at that and snarled, "Of course not, idiot. I could never live with my self if I had ever murdered someone." Chris was starting to cry himself, clenching his fists and teeth to try and stop himself from trembling, but it was pointless endeavor on his part. He was trembling like a leaf.

"Then why won't you let me tell the fucking police!" Daichi screamed in Chris' face, anger suddenly pulsing through his tears. Fear and desperation had warped the boys emotions in a matter of second and the trembling boy from earlier now had malice in his eyes, face bright red from anger and tears. Izaya remembered wondering for a brief moment if Daichi would be willing to punch Chris.

Chris had taken an hesitant step back, obviously matching Izaya's thoughts but he kept talking, "But what if they don't believe us? What if they think its us for some reason. We would end up just like that guy in the news a few months back."

Izaya immediately knew what he was talking. Apparently, a man had murdered his wife and four children due to a drunken rage and had fled the country. The bodies apparently had been torn to shreds, almost unrecognizable. The man had been nowhere to be found, having fled immediately after taking their lives.

But a few years later, it was reported he'd been caught and he'd been immediately executed for the brutality of his crimes. People had been relieved for a while, but then… the news came.

They had gotten the wrong man. They had captured the ex-husband of the woman, thinking he was the father at the time. The real murderer had confessed his secret to one of his buddies who he thought he could trust.

Izaya never understood that about his humans. Why were they always so eager to share secrets? How could you trust anyone that much? Trust them not to betray. If he had been alive, he would've wanted to study that aspect of them more but it was too late for that now.

But even with the real murderer caught and also executed, the citizens of Japan had been both outraged and horrified at the false execution, sympathy for the wrongly committed man. It had also made people super paranoid for a while.

Daichi and Chris were one of the few who were lost in that paranoid.

Daichi's throat suddenly hitched, showing that he was weakening. Izaya had wanted to scream, but drew back formally. He didn't want to scare them off by revealing that their was a fucking ghost in the room and didn't see how any of this would help their overall decision. He could only hope…

Hope was not something he really ever wanted to rely on but as of now, he guess he had no choice.

Daichi sputtered out with a desperate, high-pitched voice, "Chris. That was an one in a million chance! We have to do what is right. Do we look like people who would commit this?!"

"Would the police really believe two druggies?"

Daichi said nothing to that.

"We'll be good as dead, or at least locked up for a while once they find out about the weed and falsely accuse us of murder. They won't take our word for shit. I mean… look at the guy." Chris said, gesturing towards his corpse. "Do you think anyone can find any evidence on that? He barely looks human anymore man? The only people they have to blame is us."

Daichi again said nothing to that, reluctantly studying Izaya's body with his big, sad eyes before finally nodding.

No!

"Come on man…" Chris had said with a reluctant tone of voice, quickly grabbing his backpack and weed bag, "Let's get out of here and never come back."

Daichi said nothing, but nodded once more, quietly following Chris out the door, through the hall and out of the other exit.

Izaya had sat there listening as their footsteps had grown fainter and fainter until there was nothing to hear. He hadn't felt sad. He hadn't felt hopeless. He hadn't even felt angry. He had just felt a cold emptiness like he usually did. He could conjure no emotions.

That encounter had shown him what he needed to see.

So after Daichi and Chris had left, Izaya had gotten up from his sitting position against the wall and had immediately padding away from his body which he didn't even care about anymore. No one was going to come and retrieve it… or at least any time soon. And he didn't want to wait that long.

He remembered an old legend a kid had told him when he'd been in grade school. Usually he would avoid the other children when he'd been in elementary school, focusing on his own schoolwork or own plans. He would pull the occasional prank every once in a while on someone, but he had found doing it on the teachers was a lot more satisfying.

But when he'd heard the boys were gathering around to try and out scare one another with ghost stories and other stuff, he just had to join in.

There was the basics. One of them had said he and a friend went in a haunted house at midnight and the face detector had focused in on a dark hallway. Another talked about how in their grandparents house, if you placed a penny on the sink in the bathroom and came back five minutes later, it would be in a different place. Another talked about how their basement had old, faded carvings on the ground from the children that used to live there and swore that sometimes when they walked down there the carvings had chalk tracing the outlines of the pictures.

But there was one kid who interested him the most. It wasn't based on an experience, it was just a legend or theory or something that he'd heard. Apparently, when someone first dies, they become addicted to hanging around their body or burial site. They just sit there and mourn over the loss of their own life, never moving onto the Afterlife in their grief. Eventually, they faded away with time, isolated in their own sadness and dark thoughts.

Although the kid's story was dubious at the best but it had been the only one that scared Izaya pretty bad. Even in death, he didn't want to fade away.

Even at his age now, he didn't want to fade away. He didn't want to be a pathetic ghost wasting away over his own dead body. Although the Afterlife never beckoned him after death, he still found their might be truth to the boy's story and he didn't want to face that.

Maybe he had to thank Daichi and Chris. For finally making him realize this.

It would be a pathetic waste if he went that way. So he, like Daichi and Chris had done earlier had walked out. He had simply left in search of nearby civilization and had finally ended up here. He had walked a good distance until he winded himself up in Osaka…meaning he was about three hundred miles away from Shinjuku. Just peachy.

But he wasn't going to let that phase him. Distance had never stopped him before. He was going to go back because he had a mission.

Izaya didn't just leave to leave… he had a plan like always.

"Ready or not, Igarashi. Because here I come…and I'm not alone." Izaya muttered darkly to himself as he hopped off of his trashcan with his hands in his pockets to go and walk off.

Mission set.


End file.
